


as is ever so

by laure_lie (justawks)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cheesy Teen Romance, Derek Needs a Hug, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscarriage, Not-A-Criminal Derek, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy (guess who), Slow-ish burn, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Warning: Kate Argent, accidental violence, awkward teen years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4071181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawks/pseuds/laure_lie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They already knew who he was. Perhaps that was the root of his discomfort, he thought to himself. He didn’t like being at a disadvantage, and these people, with whom he was supposed to make a family, certainly had him at a disadvantage.</p><p>***</p><p>Or: Derek moves to live with his newly married father. He falls in love with the boy down the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as is ever so

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite literally the longest thing I've ever written with any kind of traceable, complete plot. It's become my baby in between frantic studying for finals and dicking around on the internet, but I'm 2 pumped to finally set it free into the world. It's full of overuse of the words "oh" and "okay". It's also ridiculous and non-coherent and doesn't have everything I wanted WHOOPS.
> 
> Based on the Lifetime film "Mom, Dad and Her," in which "an angry teenager is sent to live with their father and his new wife, who is expecting their first child."
> 
> There's nothing I love more than a good angry teenager, ya know?
> 
> Warnings: verbal abuse, verbal humiliation, emotional manipulation, Kate Argent being Kate Argent but pregnant, sad!Derek, panic attacks (as I side note, this got much darker than I ever thought something based off a Lifetime movie could be). See end notes for spoiler-y warnings, and lemme know if I'm missing any tags, warnings, etc.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ALSO, I made a Spotify playlist, which may be listed here. If not, does anyone know how to link stuff? Computers are hard...

The engine stuttered to a stop. His father breathed for a moment, shoulders shifting against the rough fabric of the seats. 

 

“I know-” he stopped short, and drew in a heavy breath. “I know that this isn’t ideal, Derek.” 

 

Derek snorted roughly. His father turned in his seat and shot him a look. He eyed his shoes in response. They were a scuffed old pair of sneakers, once black and white but now a muddled grey all over. His mother had bought them for him.

 

“For what it’s worth, son, I’m glad you’re here,” his father tried again. 

 

Derek paused, then scoffed quietly. “Thanks, Dad. Means a lot.” His words stung, he hoped. He opened the door and stood quickly, swinging his backpack over his shoulder before he turned and faced the house. 

 

It was a pure and milky white, with blue trim and a red door. The front walk was made of smooth, even cobblestones. The flower boxes that framed the front windows were full to the brim with brightly blooming Gerber daisies. Even the grass was unnaturally green, covering the yard in perfect, textured squares.

 

It looked beautiful. But when he compared it to the cramped apartment filled with Cora and Laura and his mother, filled to the brim with laughter and warmth, it also looked a little bit like hell.

 

The door swung open. Backlit by the porchlight was the silhouette of a woman. She was dressed in a long blue skirt and white top, and her blonde hair hung in loose waves down her front. Her belly was round and her smile was wide.

 

Her eyes landed on his father first.

 

“Geoff! I told you to call me when you left the airport,” she called, eyebrows raised. She caught sight of him next, and her eyes lit up. “Oh! You must be Derek!” 

 

She beckoned him over. He went slowly, casting his gaze back over his shoulder. His father smiled encouragingly, but unsurprisingly it didn’t make him feel any better. 

 

When he turned back he found that the woman - your stepmother, his mind reminded him - had made her way down the stairs. She was right in front of him now, and grabbed him into a forceful hug. She smelled heavy, like cheap patchouli and cigarette smoke; it made him cough in the back of his throat. She pulled back, holding him at an arm’s length. Her plastic nails dug sharply into his arms as her eyes trailed up and down his body. 

 

He squirmed, feeling naked and exposed. She licked her lips. He shuddered, tried to pull back, but she only brought him back in for another hug.

 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Derek,” she practically purred. He heard his father clear his throat pointedly, and wrapped a tentative arm around her barely bloated middle. 

 

“It’s nice to meet you too, uh, Mrs. Hale.”

 

She pulled back, shaking her head with a smile on her face. “Oh, no no no.”

 

She smiled wider, and for a moment her face took on that of something much uglier than a thirty something woman bright with recent pregnancy and contentment.

 

“Call me Kate.”

 

 

***

 

 

His room was miserable. It was on the second floor, and at the far end of the house. It had one small window, probably just large enough for him to squeeze through if he tried, and a large closet with rusted hinges and a time-worn door. The bed was plain, wrought iron bars on each corner framing the simple white sheets. The walls were covered in floral wallpaper, so faded and stained that the once blue blooms now looked greenish-grey.

 

He dropped his duffle with a sigh, before throwing himself backwards onto the mattress. He bounced once, twice, the squeaking of springs accompanied by a thick cloud of dust. He coughed weakly, muttering “wonderful,” to himself. 

 

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be in this house with his father and his brand new, shiny, as of yet undamaged family. It left a sour taste in his mouth and an ache in his chest. It reminded him of the aching loneliness he’d felt in the months following his parents’ divorce, and left his neck hot and his mouth dry. It was like all the times his mother had looked at him with that sad, disappointed look rolled into one, except this time he didn’t know how to make it better. 

 

He sighed, rolled onto his side. The room looked better from this angle, tilted up on its side. Everything looked off, too empty and dust-filled to make the neurons in his brain fire up with the word home. He sighed again, dust tickling the back of his throat. 

 

His father’s voice shattered the silence. 

 

“Derek! Come down and meet everyone!”

 

He rolled off the bed with an annoyed growl. As much as he hated “reveling in his man-pain” as Laura liked to call it, the silence had been pleasant. He hadn’t been in a house so silent since before Cora was born, probably. 

 

“Coming!” he called back down the stairs. 

 

He took his time walking down, taking in the musty green carpet and the gleaming wood of the handrails and the small, oiled portraits that hung on the walls. Centuries worth of Argents, each one as beautiful as the last. 

 

His boots made heavy sounds against the stairs, announcing his approach to the small group of people gathered at the base of the stairs. They turned to eye him one at a time, as though it had been rehearsed. It was off-putting. 

 

His father entered from the left, wide smile on his face. “Derek! I thought you’d like to meet everyone before you get all settled.”

 

He stared back at his father, who looked as though he were expecting a response. He shrugged, and blew out an “okay.” 

 

“Well,” his father said, clapping his hands together, “this is Scott.” He gestured towards a teenager with dark eyes and an uneven jaw, who must have been around Derek’s age, maybe a few years younger. His skin was the color or caramel and his hair was black and feathered. He smiled wide, and Derek felt a little bit like he was looking at the sun. 

 

Derek nodded, and Scott nodded in return, throwing in a small wave of his hand. He looked friendly enough. 

 

“Scott is one of our farmhands. His mother Melissa works as a nurse at the clinic in St. Peters, but they live in one of the backhouses on our land,” his father said.

 

Scott nodded excitedly. “You should stop buy for a visit sometime. My mom made brownies. Her brownies are the best,” Scott gushed. Derek shrugged again.

 

“Maybe, yeah.” he muttered. If Scott was offended by his lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. Rather, he smiled wider, waving again before stepping back into the mass of people.

 

Next was a hulking man with dark skin and bright eyes. “Vernon Boyd,” he said, voice booming. “Call me Boyd.” 

 

Derek nodded. “Derek,” he said, before wincing internally. They already knew who he was. Perhaps that was the root of his discomfort, he thought to himself. He didn’t like being at a disadvantage, and these people, with whom he was supposed to make a family, certainly had him at a disadvantage. 

 

After Boyd was Deaton, the private veterinarian they’d hired after one too many calves had died during birthing. He was an odd, quiet man, but the soft smile he’d sent Derek had calmed him, somehow. 

 

There was Isaac, the silent, nervous-looking boy with a shy smile and scared eyes. He hadn’t spoken, but Derek didn’t find himself caring. 

 

There was Chris, Kate’s brother who ran the business side of the farm, and ran the local hunting post on the side. He shook Derek’s hand with a firm grip and slightly awkward eye contact, but he’d nodded approvingly as they’d separated. “Good to meet you, Derek. Your father hasn’t shut up about you for the last couple weeks. it’s nice to put a face to the name.” 

 

Derek shrugged awkwardly, not knowing what else to do. “Yeah.”

 

“I’d best be getting back to work, but it really is good to have you here Derek. It’ll be nice to have some extra hands when the baby comes.”

 

Right, Derek thought to himself. The baby.

 

He nodded, gave a strained smile, and watched as one by one the group dissipated, returning to their seemingly endless list of duties, if Scott’s brief summary of his daily life held any accuracy. 

 

He stood there even once everyone was gone, taking in the musty smell of the house and the dark wood of the trim and the overwhelming sense of terror that was creeping up from his gut towards this throat. 

 

“I’m going for a walk!” he called out suddenly. The sound echoed in the mostly empty house, but he didn’t stay long enough to hear it. 

 

He was off the porch and past the fence in only a handful of urgent steps. He found himself looking both ways down a seemingly endless road. He turned right, instinctively, and set out on his way.

 

The roads surrounding the Argent Family Farm were all dust and dirt. They clouded around him as he walked, making it difficult to breathe or see. It was oddly calming, trying to step lightly in order to minimize the dust. 

 

He was so engrossed in his careful steps that he didn’t notice he was approaching another home until it was too late. 

 

“Hello there, son. Something I can help you with?” A deep voice asked from in front of him. Derek’s head shot up.

 

“Oh, um, sorry,” he muttered. “I wasn’t really paying attention.” He shuffled his foot sheepishly against the dust of the driveway. 

 

“No harm done,” the man said with a smile. “I take it you’re new around here?”

 

Derek hesitated, before nodding. “Yeah, I just moved in with my dad. Up at, uh, the Argent Farms?” he lifted his voice at the end, as though it were a question. He wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t.

 

“Ah yes,” the mad nodded. “You must be Geoff Argent’s son. Derek, was it?” 

 

He nodded. 

 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I was planning on dropping by later this week, once you all got everything settled.” The man took a few careful steps down the porch, closer to Derek. “The name’s Stilinski. Sheriff John Stilinski.”

 

He held out his hand for a shake. “Um, Derek Hale. Nice to meet you, sir.”

 

The man smiled warmly, nodded. “Likewise.” 

 

 

***

 

 

Stiles first appeared on a Tuesday. It was early, earlier than it should have been given only his loud, cheerful voice and they way it echoed through the ancient home. He was banging around the kitchen, muttering to himself and riffling through the cupboard where all the dry goods were kept when Derek walked in the room.

 

He coughed pointedly, and Stiles turned to face him like a petty thief caught red-handed, eyes wide and terrified. Derek grunted, still addled by sleep, and shuffled past him to get out a bowl for cereal. He filled it deliberately with Lucky Charms, keeping one eye on the odd, scrawny stranger. He finally sat, cold coffee in one hand and cereal in the other. He looked at the boy - and he must have been a boy, given the plump of his cheeks and the width of his shoulders.

 

“Who are you?” he mumbled through a bite. 

 

The boy held out a hand, which he looked pointedly at. It was early, too early in his opinion, and his promise to himself to be nicer here, better, only extended to the people he knew belonged. 

 

“Um, Stiles.” The boy smiled, bright and wide and gleaming. “I’m a buddy of Scott’s. I usually drop by in the morning on my way to school. I take it you’re Derek?” 

 

It was supposed to be a statement, he knew, but it came out sounding like a question.

 

That evening, after he met Stiles for the first time, he dreamt of home. He dreamt of his mother’s laugh, her soft smile, the way she would brush her hand over his forehead when she came in to check on him and assumed he was asleep. He saw Laura and Cora, one older and one younger, against the back of his eyelids. 

 

They were beautiful, in his memories, like paintings. They haven’t spoken since he moved here, and a part of that was him, he knew. He hadn’t picked up the phone, hadn’t sent a letter or an e-mail or a postcard or a text. 

 

He thought about it sometimes, when it was too much or the house was too quiet and he couldn’t get to sleep. The same thing always stopped him. The look on his mothers face, so sad and so tired, and her lips moving as they whispered, before he left, that maybe he should “wait a while before you call, Derek, give us all some time to settle.”

 

He woke up disoriented, eyes aching and body cold. 

 

The sound of his sister’s laughter echoed in his ears as he stood shakily and looked at the clock. It was just past 5 o’clock, and he had been asleep for at least 3 hours. 

 

He grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, before heading towards the kitchen for a glass of water. He was on his way back up the ancient, creaking stairs when her shadow fell across the floor in front of him. 

 

“Derek,” she whispered, purred, before stepping closer into his space.

 

Her lips were on his before he was aware of what was happening. Her scent clouded around him for a moment; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. In an instant he was back, pushing her away with a terrified shove.

 

“Wha-what are you…” he stuttered, wiping his mouth with a vicious swipe of his hand. 

 

She raised her eyebrows, smirked. “I thought it was perfectly clear, Derek.” Her voice curled around him. He opened his mouth to rebuff her, to shout for help, to do something, but she grabbed him by the collar before he could get a sound out. She pulled him close, lips against the shell of his ear. 

 

“Be good,” she whispered, voice sending shivers down his spine. “Your father hasn’t been this happy in a long time. Don’t you dare ruin this for him like you ruin everything else.”

 

It was like a punch to the gut. She released him, and he stepped backwards, nodding soundlessly. 

 

“I’ll see you later, Derek,” she purred. “Perhaps after dinner?” 

 

He nodded again, still stunned. She turned, and was gone with a whiff of patchouli and smoke. 

 

The next thing he knew, his father was softly touching his shoulder, concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked. Derek nodded, shoved his shaking hands deep in his pockets.

 

“Fine,” he said with a grimace, pulling his shoulder free and walking quickly down the stairs. 

 

He felt off all throughout dinner, dirty and disgusting and ill. He did his best to shovel in the meatloaf and potatoes Melissa McCall had kindly brought over, but he couldn’t really taste the food through the constant metallic bile that seemed to flood his mouth. 

 

Everyone else seemed ready for seconds, but he pushed his chair back and asked to be excused. Across the table his eyes met Kate’s, and she smiled softly at him. It sent a cold stab of something - fear, perhaps - through his gut. 

 

“Truly, what an excellent idea, Derek. Perhaps it’s best you don’t eat another plate. You’ve been looking a little wide around the middle,” she said, smile widening as though in sympathy. 

 

Derek flushed, sent a quick look down at his torso. Everyone else chuckled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He glanced at his father, who winced slightly before turning to face her. “Kate,” He implored awkwardly, sending his wife a look. 

 

Kate laughed lightly. “Oh, ignore me. I’m so sensitive about how big I’m getting, I’m imagining a belly on everyone.” She laughed, and it filled up the silent room. To Derek it felt cloying, but everyone else seemed to accept the statement.

 

“Dad, please, can I be excused?” he asked again, voice slightly desperate. 

 

His father agreed, looking at him strangely. Derek ignored him, stood quickly with his plate and depositing it in the sink, before climbing the stairs quickly to his room. Once inside, he shut and locked the door firmly. He sent a glance at the mirror, and found himself zeroing in on his stomach. Perhaps I could cut back a bit, he caught himself thinking. 

 

He shook his head at his own reflection, but it didn’t help to shake the feeling of discomfort that had been hanging over him ever since his encounter with Kate in the hallway. He got ready for bed quickly, looking in the mirror as little as possible. She was wrong, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but feel sensitive, raw at her words. 

 

He had just laid down, in a pair of loose sweats and an old t-shirt rather than the jeans and sweatshirt he’d worn for dinner, when there was a knock on his door. 

 

“Derek?” the voice called, and his body chilled. “It’s Kate. I’ve come to apologize. Can I come in?” 

 

He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Um, sure. Come on in.”

 

The door swung slowly inward, as though she were hesitant to enter. When her face appeared, twisted into a smirk, he knew she was anything but. She looked gleeful. Maybe his father had forced her to apologize?

 

She took a couple steps into the room, eyes casting around the room as her nose scrunched, as though she were unhappy with his things. “This was my old room, you know. When I was a little girl.” So perhaps she was unhappy with his things. 

 

“Oh,” he said quietly, unsure of her point. “I didn’t know that.”

 

She smiled, and laughed quietly, gentling fingering the faded curtains that hung above the window. “I was such a rebellious girl. Chris was always the good one, the one that would do as our parents said.”

 

She looked out the window wistfully for a moment, before turning over her shoulder to look at him. “He met his wife in high school, you know, proposed right after graduation. I was two months pregnant when I graduated high school, but I told my folks to fuck off and moved to New York City.” 

 

She laughed again, a high, dry sound. 

 

“I had a few friends that went to NYU, and I cycled through their couches for a few weeks until I could get an abortion. That ate up all my savings, and my friends got tired of me hanging around and not contributing. I had to call my parents after a few weeks. I didn’t have any money, didn’t have anywhere to stay. Do you know how embarrassing that was? Screwing up so royally with my family as witnesses…” She pauses, shoots him a sideways look. “I suppose you’d know all about that, though. Screwing up? Embarrassing your family? You’re old hat, aren’t you?”

 

He was stunned into silence. Shame burned in his gut, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks. 

 

“Aren’t you, Derek?” she asked again, voice forceful. He nodded slowly. That seemed to be what she wanted, because her mouth curled with a small smile at the movement. 

 

“I’m glad we can agree. Keep that in mind, the next time we speak to each other. It could be time for you to make a change, no?”

 

She was gone in an instant, leaving the heavy cloud of smoke and flowers in her wake. 

 

 

***

 

 

The second time Stiles appeared, it was much like the first, except it was a Wednesday, and Derek wasn’t as surprised. He poured his Lucky Charms quietly, oddly comforted by the racket Stiles made as he dug through the cupboards, looking for god knows what. He must have found it eventually, because he let out a small cheer and triumphantly raised what looked like a small bag of buckwheat flour. 

 

He moved to the other side of the kitchen then, grabbing other bits and bobs from the cupboards and lining them up haphazardly on the counter. He turned eventually, and leaned back against the counter. “So…” he said.

 

Derek looked up. “Yeah?” he asked, voice muffled by the cereal. 

 

“How’s the great and powerful Argent Farm treating you?” 

 

Derek sensed some bitterness in his tone, but thought perhaps he’d save the questions for another time. 

 

“About as well as I expected.”

 

Stiles paused, arm outstretched in preparation to grab a mixing bowl from a rack to his right. “Oh?” he said. “That sounds like there’s a story behind it.”

 

Oddly enough, it didn’t feel like a request to share to Derek, as it so often did with others. It felt like an opportunity, nothing more. 

 

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just kind weird, you know? He’s my dad. She’s not my mom. And the baby…” he trailed off, breaking eye contact. 

 

“It’s different, is all. This place isn’t like home, this house isn’t my house. I didn’t want to come either, but my mom made me, so…”

 

Stiles hummed, nodded. He turned back to his work, quickly measuring and mixing the dry ingredients in a large silver bowl before heading to the fridge for some eggs. 

 

“Why?” he asked somewhat suddenly, voice cracking slightly. 

 

Derek looked up from his lap, puzzled. “Why what?”

 

“Why did your mom make you come?” 

 

Derek shifted awkwardly in his seat. “That’s not really-”

 

“No worries. I get it. Privacy and stuff. Boundaries. I promise I’m aware of them.”

 

Stiles rubbed ruefully at the back of his neck, smile small and sheepish. It made something loosen in Derek’s chest. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

 

Stiles’ smile widened. “No problem, dude.”

 

He turned back to his work, grabbing the necessary two eggs and whisking them in quickly. 

 

Twenty minutes later found him and Derek seated at the small table in the kitchen, ankles knocking together as they discussed Batman, and Spiderman, and their favorite TV shows as kids.

 

The pancakes were delicious, and Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so wide. 

 

 

***

 

 

The weeks passed in a blur of Stiles and work and Kate, always looming at the edge of his days. 

 

Stiles would show up in the kitchen at odd hours of the morning, bustling about as he made himself - and more and more frequently, Derek as well - breakfast, before rushing out of the house with a “Later!” tossed behind him. He started coming by on the weekends, offering thinly veiled excuses before shoving his way up the stairs, throwing himself down onto Derek’s bed and demanding they watch some movie or play some video game or go to some allegedly haunted house until three months had passed and Derek realized he had actually made a - god forbid - friend. 

 

Derek had his father-mandated work too, hammering roof tiles or loading and unloading carts full of hay bales until his muscles ached and his hair was soaked with sweat. It gave him something to do during the day, limited the time he could spend wallowing in his dump of a room, lonely without Stiles and with the lights off and door locked lest Kate come for another late-night visit. 

 

She still managed to corner him, though, once or twice in the kitchen. Another kiss, in the early hours of the morning when he went downstairs for a glass of water. Another “talk”, this time about his level of intelligence, on the back porch after Sunday brunch. 

 

New tortures, too. 

 

Her cold, rough hands shoved up beneath his shirt when everyone else was out in the fields helping with a birth. Her rouge covered lips against his throat as she “helped” him with his homeschooling. A hands shoved roughly down the front of his pants after an unfortunate encounter with Stiles at the market. 

 

“You stay away from scum like that, Derek. You have to find a nice girl, a real girl, someone like me. That’s who you can settle down with, if you expect to be speaking with your family ten years from now,” she whispered into his throat.

 

He tried his hardest to tune her out, but couldn’t keep the bile from rising in his throat or the indignant flush from painting his cheeks at her calling Stiles “scum.”

 

And so it was for the next four months, and endless cycle of Stiles-work-Kate, Stiles-work-Kate. His days blurred together, an odd haze settling over them. His time with Stiles - with anyone other than Kate, really - lifted the haze, but only temporarily. He would find himself smiling and laughing, startled by how foreign it felt to do so. His gaze lingered longer in the mirror now, hands harsh as the pressed in, deeper, deeper, deeper against his hipbones. He felt dirty, sluggish and slow after every rendez-vous, of sorts, in the silent hallways of the Argent household. 

 

As he lay in bed each night, he could feel the ghost of her plastic nails digging into his shoulders, could choke on her thick scent against the back of his throat. He had been right, all those weeks ago. This was hell. 

 

 

***

 

 

"Want to come over?" Stiles asked one afternoon, both boys sprawled across the floor of Derek's bedroom. Stiles was reading, and Derek was supposed to be doing schoolwork, but he kept getting distracted by the way Stiles moved his mouth, contorting it left and right, and the way he tapped his fingers against the spine of the book.

 

Derek looked up, eyebrows slightly raised in question. "Sure. Any reason?"

 

"My dad-" Stiles started to say, before stopping himself. "Do you wanna or not?"

 

"Yeah, sure. Just let me finish this problem set."

 

Fifteen minutes later and they were walking down the dust roads, baked by the late afternoon sun. Derek still took his careful, measured steps, but found he had to focus to keep them even. Stiles blabbered on, hands gesturing wildly as he recounted the time he and Scott had decided to break into the Vet's office and steal Scott a pet dog. 

 

"It bit him!" Stiles said, laughing. "I wish you could have seen his face. So betrayed..." Stiles dissolved into laughter again, smile wide with mirth.

 

The fences began to grow familiar, the same fields and orchards he could vaguely remember from his last journey down the dusty roads of Beacon Hills. 

 

"Wait, is your dad Sheriff Stilinski?"

 

Stiles paused, stilled. "Yeah. How'd you know?" he asked curiously. 

 

Derek shrugged. "I stumbled upon your house by accident a couple weeks ago, I guess. Huh. Small world."

 

"Well, it is a small town. There's only 5,000 people." 

 

Derek punched his softly in the shoulder. "Yeah, okay, whatever."

 

Soon enough they rounded the final corner, and walked up the cobblestone path towards Stiles' front door. About ten feet away, the porch door swung open and out stepped the Sheriff, out of uniform in a loose pair of jeans and a flannel.

 

"Stiles!" he called. "I see you bought a friend."

 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. He says you two already met, though."

 

Derek waved shyly. "Hello, Sheriff."

 

The Sheriff smiled, looking for an instant the picture of his sun. "Derek, what a pleasant surprise. Will you be staying for dinner?"

 

Stiles turned and sent Derek a "significant look" as he liked to call them. Derek found himself nodding. "Yes, sir. If it's no trouble."

 

"Not at all," the Sheriff said, ushering them into the house. "And please, call me John."

 

 

***

 

 

The first time Stiles spent the night it was a Sunday. The evening sun had grown hazy and the sky blood orange as the evening drew longer. 

 

Seven turned to eight turned to nine, and soon the house was turning in for the night and Derek and Stiles were still sprawled on the couch downstairs, TV volume turned almost all the way down. 

 

They’d been closer before, but Kate had come and shot Derek a look before heading up to bed, and he’d made a little more room after she’d left. He and Stiles always seemed to drift closer together. Kate was never amused by it. 

 

Stiles leaned in, lips close the the shell of Derek’s ear. “Movie night, movie night, movie night,” he whispered as though it were a chant. 

 

Derek rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Fine. Let’s go upstairs though. The couch is awful to sleep on.” 

 

"Yay!" Stiles bounced excitedly out of his seat. “Lead the way, good sir.”

 

Derek sighed heavily, but it was an act and Stiles knew it, if his smug expression was anything to go by. He trailed behind him as they made their way towards his room, feet making soft sounds against the carpeted floor. 

 

Once in the room Stiles took a dive towards Derek's bed, wrapping the quilts around himself. Derek snorted. "Make yourself at home."

 

"Thanks," Stiles said, voice muffled as he burrowed deeper into the covers. "I will."

 

Derek reached for his box of DVDs. "What do you want to watch?" he asked.

 

Stiles sent him a disappointed look. "What do you think?"

 

"We always watch A New Hope, Stiles. I thought we could try something else. Here," he said, handing Stiles the basket. "I'm gonna go grab some popcorn. Take a look."

 

He returned a few minutes later, large bowl filled with buttered and salted popcorn. He hated it that way, but Stiles didn't need to know that. He found Stiles sitting on the bed, unmoving as he stared down at the DVD in his hands. 

 

"Stiles?" Derek asked. The boy looked up, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Derek set down the bowl of popcorn and carefully took a seat next to him on the bed. "What's up?"

 

Stiles sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "Sorry, I'm being stupid." He held up the case, 'Stardust' written in glittering letters across the front. "It was my mom's favorite movie, ya know?"

 

Derek nodded, unsure of what to do. He reached into the basket and pulled out 'Rudy'. He turned it over in his hands a few times, right pointer finger tracing the Talia Hale written in Sharpie alongside the spine. 

 

"This was my mom's favorite." 

 

Stiles nodded, and they sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes, Stiles sniffling periodically, before either one spoke again. 

 

"Why did you come here?" Stiles asked suddenly. "You said you didn't want to, when I asked you before. So why did you?"

 

Derek shrugged. "My mom sent me. Got in a few too many fights, I guess. I don't know. I wasn't the happiest person back home." 

 

Stiles snorted. "What? And you're a ray of sunshine now?" Derek bristled, and Stiles held his hands out placatingly. "Sorry," he muttered. "Just surprised."

 

"It's not a big deal," Derek muttered. "Divorce kind of fucks you over, you know?" He paused, before: "What about you?"

 

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked. 

 

"Your mom-" he cut off, unsure if he should continue. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

 

Stiles shook his head, wiping at his eyes once more. "No, no, it's only fair." 

 

He drew in a deep breath. "She died a couple of years ago. It sucked. It still sucks. It was rough for a while, with dad. We're better though, now. It just still hits me sometimes, you know? We'll go to her favorite restaurant or I'll find an article or photo or something I think she'd really love. I hate being reminded that she's gone."

 

"That makes sense," Derek offered. He hesitated, before offering: "Still want to watch a movie?" Stiles nodded. 

 

"Which one?" Derek asked.

 

Stiles wordlessly pointed at A New Hope, and Derek nodded.

 

He put in the film and sat down on the floor, relaxing against the side of his bed with his body turned towards his laptop screen. He tried his best to focus on the film, he really did, but Stiles tear-stained face kept popping up. Thinking about Stiles led to thinking about the way he bit his lip when he was really focused on whatever he was reading, or the way he looked at Derek when he brought him food, eyes soft and smile wide as he mumbled thank-yous.

 

"Hey, Stiles?" he asked after a few moments of rumination.

 

“Wha?” Stiles asked, mouth full of popcorn and muffled words. 

 

Derek hesitated, before quietly saying “The way you look at me sometimes…” He trailed off, feeling awkward. 

 

Stiles’s eyebrows drew together as he swallowed. “The way I look at you? What about it?” 

 

Derek shook his head. “It’s not-” he stopped himself. “Are we friends?”

 

Stiles laughed, sudden and sharp like a gunshot. It stung just the same. 

 

His next words soothed Derek, though. “Of course we’re friends, Sourwolf.” 

 

Derek nodded. “Okay. That’s all I needed to know.”

 

He paused a few moments, before: "Wait, Sourwolf?"

 

Stiles giggled. "Yeah, because your mouth gets all puckered when you're frustrated, like you're sucking on sour candy. And, you know, your eyebrows."

 

"My eyebrows?" Derek asked.

 

"They're very wolflike, very grrrrr."

 

"Whatever you say, Stiles." Derek said, stomach warm and happy. Not just a friend, he mused. A nickname. Heaven forbid.

 

 

***

 

 

It was an accident, more so than anything he had ever done to land himself in his house. He’d been asked to bring his laundry down, and since he hadn’t done it in the last two weeks, he’d amassed quite a collection. Despite the protests of his aging clothes hamper, he was determined to make it down the stairs in one trip. 

 

Vision blocked by the tower of clothes he did his best to navigate the narrow hallways of the upstairs. He was approaching the staircase, stepping carefully so as not to trip, when the basket caught of the corner of one of the many photo frames. It crashed to the ground with a solid thud, accompanied faintly by the tinkling of broken glass.

 

He set the basket down gently, turning to asses the damage, when the door to the left opened and a wide eyed Kate emerged, hair wild as it curled around her neck. “What happened?” she pushed out.

 

“I-” his voice caught in his throat, as it so often did around her. “I knocked it down. It was an accident.”

 

Her eyes landed on the cracked frame as it lay on the floor, and for a moment it was as though she’d turned to stone. 

 

“Dad…” she whispered under her breath. She looked up sharply, suddenly, approaching Derek with two wide strides. She reached out. Her hand was on his arm then, plastic nails digging in so deeply he was sure they’d draw blood. She drew him in close, so her breath fanned over his face in thick, heavy, perfumed clouds. 

 

“Look at what you did,” she whispered frantically. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown out unnaturally. Her chest heaved up and down in gasps. “Look at what you did,” she whispered again.

 

Her other hand came around and turned his head - forcefully - until his gaze fell on the half-shattered picture frame sitting on the floor. The glass had spiderwebbed from the point where it had made contact with the bannister, directly above the man’s right eye. It made him look blinded, grin off putting and wild beneath blank eyes. 

 

When he turned back to Kate, she looked nearly the same. “You broke it!” Her voice came out like a punch to the gut, sudden and painful. “You broke it!” 

 

He stepped, trying to pull away, but she just dug her nails in deeper. “You broke it!” The shout came again and again. Her arm came up to his chest, pounded once, twice, thrice. Heavy hits, that threatened to knock the wind from him. He pulled back harder, felt his own mouth open to give a shout - for help, for his dad, for something - when he felt her hand close tightly around his throat. 

 

“I’ll kill you!” she shouted now. “You broke it! I’ll kill you!”

 

He jerked back again, more forcefully than he had before, and her added weight made him stumble. His stepped back, but his foot met empty air. His eyes widened as they began to fall, arms coming away from Kate’s to reach wildly, desperately for something to hold on to. 

 

His left arm struck the bannister at the same moment her mouth opened to let out a scream. He tightened as fingers around the smooth wood as best he could and clenched his eyes shut against the sound. There was a powerful, painful pull in his shoulder as the weight of both himself and Kate fully settled before there was a sudden, blissful nothingness. 

 

He waited, eyes and fist clenched tight, until he heard a telltale thud, and then silence. 

 

He opened his eyes, turning slightly to peer behind himself to the bottom of the stairs. Kate was lying on the ancient carpet, limbs oddly crossed like a ragdoll that’s been thrown from the hands of a child. Her golden hair fanned out around her head.

 

He pulled himself up, opposite hand clutching at his shoulder. It ached heavily, and he felt tears pool behind his eyes. 

 

The silence hung heavily in the air for a moment before Kate jerked back into consciousness, mouth opening and eyes widening as a scream poured out. It was a scream of pure terror, and Derek jerked back as her arms wrapped themselves around her middle. 

 

He stumbled, moving back, back, back. Away, away, away. The slamming of his bedroom door startled him. He didn’t remember reaching the small, dusty room, or reaching for the aging door, or shoving against it desperately until it latched itself shut.

 

He dragged himself to the bed, limbs heavy. His eyes closed again, and he clenched his fists in his lap. 

 

He sat in the silence for seconds, minutes, hours, until the sound of pounding feet reached his ears. 

 

People. People were coming. He should leave.

 

He stood on shaking legs and walked unsteadily to his window. The heavy wood frame yielded under his hands as he forced it open with weak hands. One leg then the other swung through, and he found himself teetering on the flat roof of the back porch. He walked carefully to the far edge, crouching down until his weight was on his arms. He lowered himself slowly, feet scrambling for purchase against the smooth siding of the house. He eventually found the handrail of the back steps, and let his arms go slack and he transferred his weight. A few more moments and he was standing in the backyard of the Argent household, hearing his father’s faint, panicked cries of “Kate! Kate, what happened?”

 

He stepped back, desperate to get away, away, away. He had no doubt they’d kick him out for this. Or worse, try and send him to prison. He can see his mother’s face now, more disappointed than ever, eyebrows drawn and mouth turned down. The image ached somewhere in the back of his chest.

 

He should go. He should go to Stiles. 

 

He was walking the familiar road, one step after careful step, before he had fully processed the thought. When he arrived at the Stilinski farm, in an echo of his first afternoon here, John was standing on the porch. 

 

“I heard there was some commotion down at the house about the baby. I figured you might show up,” he called across the lawn. Derek nodded. The Sheriff must not have heard the truth yet.

 

“Stiles is still doing some work in the orchard’s, but he should be back in half an hour or so. You want to come in and wait for him?” Derek shook his head. He cleared his throat. 

 

“I think I’ll go see the horses, if that’s alright with you, sir.” The Sheriff smiled, nodded. 

 

“Of course that’s alright. And what did I tell you about calling me sir?” 

 

Derek tried a smile. “Sorry, John.” 

 

The Sheriff waved him off. “Go on out back. I’ll send Stiles over when he gets back.”

 

“Thank you, John.”

 

“It’s no problem, Derek.”

 

 

***

 

 

Stiles found him in the hay loft around twenty minutes later, when he returned from the orchard. Derek was curled up in the corner, head on his arms, and he didn’t seem to hear Stiles as he climbed the wooden ladder. He crawled carefully across the loft, moving as deliberately as he could in order to avoid spooking Derek or the horses below. 

 

He reached him finally, and put a gentle hand on his back. “Hey, Derek,” he whispered. “Dad said you were out here. What happened? He said you seemed off…” he trailed off as Derek looked up, cheeks streaked with tears. 

 

“I think I killed her,” he whispered. 

 

Stiles furrowed his brow. “What? Derek, what are you talking about?” 

 

“The baby,” Derek whispered. “I think I killed her.” His eyes widened, like he was imploring Stiles to believe him by his expression alone. “I think she’s dead and Kate might die and it’s all my fault.”

 

“Derek, hold on-” Stiles begins, but the sounds of Derek’s gasps cut him off. 

 

“I killed her. I killed her,” he said over and over again, eyes growing lost and panicked as he struggled to draw in breath. “I killed her, I did. I pushed her. I couldn’t catch her. I killed her.”

 

Stiles reached for his face, cradling it in his hands. “Hey, Sourwolf, can you focus on me? I need you to listen to my voice.”

 

He began breathing deliberately, drawing heavy breaths in and out. “Can you breathe with me, Derek? I need you to listen to the way I’m breathing. Can you do that for me?”

 

He drew back, focusing in on the rapid rise and fall of Derek’s chest. He thumbed over Derek’s forehead, wide and even strokes intended to pull his focus. “Hey, hey, Derek. I need you to calm down. You have to calm down or you’re gonna pass out.”

 

He felt Derek begin to shake beneath his hands. His body quivered and he began to shake his head slightly, an odd, quiet keening sound coming from his mouth.

 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled, shaking him once, twice. “Shit, Derek, come on. You have to calm down.”

 

The keening grew louder, ever so slightly, and Derek moved as though to pull back, away from Stiles. Derek’s eyes were too wide, milky white fully visible around the dilated pupil. 

 

Without really processing the thought, Stiles pulled him in and pressed his lips against his. Derek stilled for a moment, before his eyes widened and he jerked back.

 

“Stiles wha-?” Derek cast his eyes around frantically, breaths startled back into a normal cadence.

 

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles whispered, hands still cradling Derek’s face. “You were having a panic attack, I had to snap you out of it.”

 

An odd expression crossed Derek’s face. “Oh,” he whispered. “I thought-” He made an aborted gesture with his hand, but seemed to stop himself halfway through. 

 

Derek looked at his knees. “I’m sorry.”

 

Stiles looked up, face colored with confusion. “About what?”

 

“About, you know…” Derek trailed of, hand flailing in the space between the two. “That.”

 

“The...kiss?” Stiles asked tentatively. Derek nodded. 

 

Stiles cleared his throat. “Oh. That.”

 

“Yeah.” Derek paused, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I know you didn’t-”

 

Stiles cut him off. “I didn’t what? Want to?”

 

Derek nodded. “Yeah.” Stiles sighed heavily.

 

“Are we really gonna do this now, Derek?” He shifted on his knees, position uncomfortable. “I’d really rather not do this now, sitting in the hay loft of my father’s barn.” 

 

Derek scrunched up his eyebrows, but Stiles kept going. “I get it, okay? I’m used to it. Being let down easy? It’s my forte. Even not so easy, got plenty of practice with that too. But, god Derek, I thought you’d at least have the decency to wait a bit longer before you...you know what? It’s fine. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry things are shitty at your house. But I need to leave.”

 

He turned on his knees awkwardly, progress halted by the hay and the uneven boards beneath him. He crawled, as though reluctant, towards the ladder, shoulders and neck tense. Derek stared dumbly after him as Stiles swung one leg and then the other over the edge of the loft. He had both feet solidly on the ladder and was beginning to lower himself down when Derek’s body finally caught up with his mind. He reached out, grabbing Stiles’ wrist. “Wait, Stiles-”

 

“What?” Stiles asked with a huff, at the same moment Derek blurted “I think I’m in love with you.”

 

Stiles stared. “Oh,” he said in a small voice. Derek sat back on his knees.

 

“Yeah. Oh.”

 

They say in silence for a moment, looking at each other’s faces as though waiting for the other to break the quiet. 

 

“I-” Stiles stopped himself, arm flapping slightly at his side. “Can I come back up?” he asked finally. 

 

Derek nodded rapidly, shuffling backwards on his knees so Stiles had enough room. They sat on their knees, a couple feet apart, staring at one another. Derek’s chest heaved and he tried to breath normally again; Stiles held himself completely still, a rarity. Finally, Stiles spoke.

 

“So, uh, about what you just said-” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek burst out. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable." Stiles laughed softly. 

 

“You won’t make me feel uncomfortable.”

 

Derek snorted dryly. “How can you be so sure? It’s happened before.” He paused, continued. “I asked you once, if we were friends. You said yes. I’m good with that. I’m great with that. I don’t want to ask more of you.”

 

Stiles’ smile grew. “It’s really not much of a chore to put up with your affections.”

 

“See!” Derek said. “This is what I mean. You making changes or concessions for me just because of my feelings-”

 

“No, you idiot,” Stiles said. “It’s not a chore because I’m in love with you too, you melodramatic doofus.”

 

Derek stopped, stared. “Oh.” 

 

Stiles beamed. “Yeah. Oh."

 

Derek made a movement, as though to shift closer, before coming to an abrupt stop. “Can I?” he asked, handing gesturing between the two. Stiles reached out, one hand on either of Derek’s shoulders, and pulled him in. 

 

“Come here,” he whispered, before pressing his lips against Derek’s. 

 

There were no fireworks. No sudden flashes of light and sound and a this is it, he’s the one ringing in their ears. But something warmed in Derek’s chest, and Stiles couldn’t stop grinning. 

 

The contented lull was broken when the Sheriff pulled open the doors of the barn. “Stiles?” he called. “Derek?”

 

Stiles peered his head over the edge of the loft after surreptitiously wiping his lips, as though it would become less obvious what they had been doing. 

 

"Yeah dad?" He asked. 

 

The Sheriff turned to face his son, looking at once both pleased and pained. "I'm going to need you two boys to come down. I need to take Derek down to the station."

 

Stiles stiffened. "What? Why?"

 

"He's wanted for questioning in regards to the Argent case."

 

"The Argent case? What Argent case?" 

 

The Sheriff sighed, looking exhausted despite it being barely past six in the evening. 

 

"Kate Argent just miscarried, Stiles. She fell down the stairs. She says Derek pushed her." 

 

 

***

 

The room was too hot, air stagnated by the lack of windows. The steel table in front of him looked threatening, as did the tall stack of folders and files, as though the station had complied an entire list of his past mistakes and transgression to air out now. 

 

He sat in the plastic chair beside the table when prompted, keeping his hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes down. There. Innocent looking, demure. 

 

The officer that came in to question him looked young, but no less intimidating. He had golden blonde hair and a nice jawline, but he also had cold eyes and an ominous-looking sheet of paper. 

"Derek Hale?" he asked, eyes flicking between the paper and the teenager in front of him. Derek nodded. 

 

The officer held out his hand, small smile breaking out over his face. "Officer Parrish. I'm just going to ask you a few questions, if that's alright?" 

 

Derek nodded again, quickly shaking the man's hand before bring it back to fold in his lap. He fidgeted, eyes flicking around the room. He'd spent a little too much time at the police station back home, loitering and fighting and the like, but he'd never been there in any capacity such as this, and he found it supremely uncomfortable.

 

"Alright," Officer Parrish began, clearing his throat lightly. "Derek Hale, seventeen year old male? That sound correct?"

 

Derek nodded. 

 

"What were you doing at approximately six-thirty in the evening earlier today, March 16th?" 

 

"I was at my father's house."

 

"And what were you doing?"

 

"I was bringing the laundry downstairs."

 

"Did you see your stepmother, Kate Argent, at any point?"

 

Derek nodded. "I did."

 

"And what happened? Did you interact with her?"

 

Derek nodded, wordlessly this time.

 

"What happened?"

 

"I-" he began, before his voice broke off into silence. He looked resolutely at the floor, hands shaking slightly as they clutched together. "I didn't-"

 

"Derek? I need you to tell me what happened, so we can get both sides of the story."

 

"I didn't mean to. The basket was too large, and I knocked a photo off the wall. I guess she heard the frame when it hit the floor. She came out in the hallway, and I just got so scared I...I wasn't really thinking. I don't know."

 

Officer Parrish noted a few things on the paper in front of him. "You said Kate came out into the hall?" Derek nodded. "And then what happened?"

 

"I-she..." Derek took a deep breath in through his nose. "She tried to choke me, for breaking the photo, I think. I'm pretty sure I dropped the basket, and I tried to get away, but we were so close to the stairs. I was able to grab on, but she couldn't." He breathed in again, even longer this time, with his eyes closed. He opened them, looked directly at Officer Parrish. 

 

"We fell. I swear. I swear I didn't push her."

 

Officer Parrish nodded, taking a few more notes. He looked up when he had finished, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "You said earlier that you were afraid when Kate came into the hallway. Can I ask why?"

 

"I-" Derek looked back at his lap. "Kate, she-she said things sometimes. Did things. I don't know. I never invited it, but I never really told her no. She was just always there, always looking over my shoulder. Ready to put me down, or touch me. I don't know." He swallowed. "I don't know."

 

"What sort of things did she do?" Officer Parrish asked, eyes sympathetic. Derek hated it.

 

"She'd grab me, shove her hand up my shirt or grab my face. She'd kiss me, or try and kiss me. I don't know," he said again.

 

"Alright. That information certainly paints this situation in a different light. Thank you for speaking up, I know it must have been difficult."

 

Derek shrugged. 

 

"Only a couple more questions, Derek." Officer Parrish flipped the paper over. "After Kate fell, what did you do?"

 

"I went to my friend's house."

 

"And which friend was this?"

 

"Stiles. Stiles Stilinski."

 

"Can I ask why?"

 

"I was-" he paused. "I was panicking, I think. I couldn't really think straight. His house is nearby, and he makes me feel safe, I guess, so that's where I went."

 

"Why didn't you stay and help?"

 

"I don't...I wasn't thinking straight. That's all I can say."

 

Parrish nodded once more. "Okay. Last question. Did you push Kate Argent intentionally?"

 

Derek shook his head adamantly. "No. Never."

 

"Alright, well then I think we're done here. Someone should be in in a few minutes to escort you back to the lobby."

 

Derek nodded as Parrish stood. "It was nice to meet you, Derek. The Sheriff speaks very kindly of you," Parrish said as he exited the room, as though it were an insignificant comment or thought. The words warmed Derek a little, but he couldn't help but chuckle a little. Fat load of good that high opinion did him if he were arrested for assault. 

 

He sighed. If only his mother could see him now.

 

 

***

 

 

Word travels quickly in a town as small as Beacon Hills. Less than twenty minutes after his official release from suspicion or potential release, there were three tentative knocks at the front door of the Argent household. Derek had been sitting in the kitchen, attempting to stay as far away from the staircase and the ominous tarp that lay at it's foot, and as such took only a few seconds to open the door to the startled face of Stiles, hand raised in preparation to knock again.

 

"Derek!" he exclaimed. He threw himself forward, arms wrapping around Derek's middle. Derek stilled, having never been in quite so much contact with Stiles in the entire five months he'd known him. "My dad wouldn't let me come see you before," Stiles mumbled against Derek's chest. "How are you?"

 

"I'm fine. I'm okay." Derek paused. "No I'm not," he said. 

 

Stiles pulled back. "Of course you're not alright! You've just had a traumatic experience! A number of traumatic experiences! You were-"

 

"I think I'm gonna go home," Derek said, cutting him off. Stiles quieted. 

 

"Oh," he whispered, voice small. He looked up. 

 

"Will you, I mean..." Stiles swallowed carefully. "Will you call me, sometime? I mean, only if you want to, and you don't have to, I just..."

 

Derek finally cracked a small smile. "Of course I'll call, idiot. I meant what I said earlier."

 

Stiles smiled back, shoulders loosening. "Oh. Me too."

 

"Okay," Derek said, pulling Stiles back in for another hug. 

 

Stiles burrowed against Derek's neck, humming contentedly before pulling him in tighter and pressing a kiss against the column of his neck.

 

"Okay."

 

***

 

“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” - Jack Kerouac

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler-y stuff! Beware!
> 
> Kate Argent is incredibly controlling and abusive towards Derek. She corners him one evening and tries to kill him because of reasons, and in the struggle she ends up falling down a full flight of stairs, causing her to miscarry.


End file.
